My pulse jumped. “What metal case?”
“He claims it belongs to him.”
“Does it?”
Mr. Meyers hesitated. “The case was found in your aunt’s antique writing desk.”
I stared at him.
Aunt Margaret’s desk.
She had given it to me when I was twenty-two, back when Daniel and I were newly engaged. It had sat in our home office for years, mostly ignored, its dark mahogany surface stacked with school forms, bills, and birthday invitations.
I had never known there was anything inside it worth stealing.
“Where is Daniel now?”
“In the foyer, under supervision.”
I turned to Lily and Noah. “Stay here.”
Lily stood. “Mom—”
“Stay with your brother.” I touched her cheek. “I’ll be right inside.”
Mr. Meyers walked beside me through the back door.
The house felt different when I entered.
Not ruined. Not unsafe.
Awake.
Like every wall had overheard years of whispers and was finally ready to speak.
Daniel stood near the staircase, breathing hard. One security officer blocked the front door. The other held a rectangular metal case with a combination lock.
Vanessa was nowhere in sight.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Daniel’s eyes cut toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”
Mr. Meyers nodded to the officer, who moved in that direction.
I focused on the case. It was dull gray, scratched at the corners, with a small brass plate attached to the top.
My initials were engraved there.
E.W.
Emily Whitmore.
My maiden name.
I reached for it.
Daniel stepped forward. “Emily, don’t.”
The officer shifted between us.
I looked at my husband. “Why not?”
His face had lost all color. “Because once you open that, there’s no undoing it.”
“Undoing what?”
He pressed his lips together.
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “You were going to throw me out of my home today. You gave my belongings to another woman. You handed me divorce papers on the porch in front of our children. And now you want to protect me from a box?”
“I am trying to protect them,” he said, nodding toward the backyard.
The words hit something tender.
“Do not use Lily and Noah as a shield.”
His eyes flashed. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
He looked at Mr. Meyers. “Not in front of him.”
“My aunt trusted him.”
“Your aunt trusted no one.”
“That may be why she saw you clearly.”
